


Don't Like Parties

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:32:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holiday parties suck, and Arthur knows all about it. Gakuen AU, USUK + Mistletoe + Kiss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Like Parties

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL PUBLICATION DATE: December 24, 2010

 

 

 

December was an interesting time of year in World Academy. Christmas trees went up, lights were strung, menorahs decorated the cafeteria, there was an unusually high number of maple syrup bottles around the school, and there were debates about which halls would be decorated for which holidays.

 

December was also when the Academy's annual party was held, and the student council (and other interested parties) was left in charge of decorating the gymnasium. Duties ranged from arranging tables and wreaths to climbing ladders and hooking up lights. Arthur was, naturally, annoyed that he was hanging blue lights and arranging tapestries on the walls while in the presence of a certain frog, especially since he had to climb a ladder to decorate. Francis stood gleefully at the bottom of the ladder, and didn't hide how much he appreciated looking up at Arthur's rear.

 

Arthur would have been lying if he said that jumping down from the ladder and onto the Frenchman hadn't crossed his mind. Indeed, he was considering it when the doors burst open and a gust of frigid wind swept through the gym. Francis hugged himself against the cold, and the temptation to jump down on the man rose within Arthur; he couldn't possibly hope to hold onto the ladder while shielding himself from the cold air.

 

Arthur needn't have worried; the door slammed shut and after a few moments, the gym was warm once more. Arthur adjusted a tapestry, and then he finally looked back to see who had arrived.

 

Arthur really should have known it would be Alfred.

 

However, what he couldn't have foreseen was the fact that Alfred had a large _tree_ over his shoulder, and was cheerfully looking around the gymnasium. He almost knocked over people and decorations alike while he twisted and turned, and then finally asked where he could find the tree stand.

 

Arthur turned back to the wall and stared at the lights above the tapestry. He nudged them once, and watched the lights flicker before him. The strand bounced up and down along the wall, and when Arthur realized that Alfred was still swinging that tree around, he climbed down.

 

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” Arthur demanded. He ignored Francis's leers, and instead stomped on the other's foot (and the new designer shoes that he had been showing off earlier in the day). Francis let out a shriek, and Arthur crossed his arms.

 

Alfred watched Francis hop around with interest, and he shifted again so that he could face Arthur head on. The tree tilted over his shoulder and knocked over a ladder, and Arthur clenched his fists.

 

“I got burgers!” Alfred told him, and then Arthur noticed the bag in the hand not holding the tree. Alfred walked forward (almost hitting poor Kiku, who was only trying to fix the broken Christmas lights), and he dropped the bag on a table that was already piled with lights and decorations. Streamers rolled off the table and left a trail across the floor while students tried to chase them down, and Arthur stared at the bag.

 

Honestly, Arthur hadn't known that McDonald's _had_ grocery bags. He wondered how many burgers Alfred had fit inside, but at the same time he was slightly repulsed by the thought that there were that many burgers in one location (and also a bit concerned; he was sure that there was something, _somewhere_ about how many burgers could be in one place before there were hazardous waste and toxin issues). Arthur looked back at Alfred, and then pointed at the tree on his shoulder. Alfred turned around to see where he was pointing, and Arthur ducked down to avoid getting hit by the evergreen.

 

“The tree!” Arthur shouted. “The bleeding tree! What the hell is it doing in here?!” Alfred turned back around, the tree once again _just_ missing Arthur, and the Brit waited for Alfred to stop moving before he stood.

 

“What're you doing on the ground?” Alfred looked down at Arthur and frowned in confusion.

 

“You're going to _kill_ somebody with that tree if you keep swinging it around! Put it down!”

 

Alfred dropped his arm, and the tree slammed down to the ground. “You don't like it?”

 

“We already have a tree!”

 

“You have a _fake_ tree,” Alfred corrected. He looked past Arthur, at the large box leaning against the wall by the bathrooms. “Everyone knows real trees are better! I'm saving the dance!”

 

“Very funny,” Arthur grumbled. He glared at the tree, and then shook his head. “If you're going to insist on using _that_ , then you have to take the lights off the old tree, test them _yourself_ , and put them on the new one.”

 

“Ha!” Alfred pointed at Arthur, and a grin lit his face. “I accept your challenge!”

 

Arthur didn't even blink. “Good. You didn't have a choice, anyway.”

 

Alfred didn't appear to hear him; he was already rushing forward, and trying to set the tree in the stand that had been set aside for the artificial one. Arthur watched for a while, arms crossed and a scowl creasing his brow, until he decided that watching Alfred try to set a tree up in a stand that was clearly too small for it was boring. Arthur returned to the ladder, slightly disheartened by the fact that he couldn't kick Francis on the way back (the frog had wandered over to one of the girls, and was attempting to seduce them, or whatever _else_ his perverted mind could think of).

 

Alfred climbed back up the ladder to adjust the lights and decorations some more, though it was hard to focus on the lights when he had a chance to watch Alfred mess something up.

 

However, Alfred persevered. The tree knocked him back and forth while he attempted to fit it into the stand, and finally he resorted to tying it to a fixture on the wall to keep it from falling over. Impressed with his idea, Alfred looked up to Arthur and gave him a thumb's up, a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Arthur simply returned to his work while Alfred invited everyone to eat. He beckoned for Arthur to join them, but Arthur made his thoughts about McDonald's clear with a glare and a snort. Then Arthur returned to working, shooing Alfred away when the other tried to help him move the ladder.

 

Alfred shrugged and went back to eating, and Arthur climbed the repositioned ladder to hang the banner over the entrance.

 

 _Someone_ had to get something done, after all.

 

* * *

 

Arthur remained at school in the time between setting up and the party, and, much to his dismay, so did Alfred.

 

“So I told him that he was a commie and a liar, and I knocked him out!” Alfred laughed, and Arthur tried to ignore him so that he could work on his homework. “You should've heard the cheers!”

 

“From what I heard, you called him a commie, and then another player tackled you while he got a touchdown.” Arthur cursed when his mechanical pencil's lead snapped, and he pounded on the eraser with his thumb to feed more out. “Don't you have something better to do?”

 

“You wanna get rid of me that bad?” Alfred grinned. “What're you working on?”

 

“It's nothing.”

 

“Looks like calc to me.”

 

“ _I said it's nothing,_ ” Arthur growled; however, Alfred had already slipped the paper from under his fingers, and he held it before him to examine it.

 

“See? Calc!”

 

Arthur gripped his pencil tightly, and swore he heard the plastic begin to crack under the pressure. “I think I know that, considering it's _my_ homework!”

 

“You got these answers wrong.” Alfred tapped the paper to point out the problems, and Arthur tried to snatch it back. Alfred moved it just out of reach, and Arthur considering going after his neck.

 

“Alfred, just give me the bleeding paper!”

 

“You don't know how to do calculus!” Alfred looked as though Christmas had come early.

 

“I don't see what that has to do with you!” Arthur growled. He lunged for the paper, but Alfred dropped his arm out of reach.

 

“I can help you with it,” Alfred offered. He looked away from Arthur, and back at the paper. “You look like you need it.”

 

“Not from you!” Arthur made to grab it again, but Alfred pushed Arthur's chair away with his foot. Arthur stumbled and would have crashed to the floor if Alfred hadn't caught him.

 

“It'll be cool,” Alfred said. “Hey, how 'bout this: I teach you calculus, you go to the Christmas party with me. Everyone wins!”

 

“I don't see how I win in that equation,” Arthur grumbled. Alfred snickered, and Arthur slapped him. “That wasn't a pun!”

 

“Just think about it: your grades go up, and we get to hang out at the party.”

 

“I lose in both situations.” Arthur leapt across the desk and managed to tear the paper from Alfred's hand. Alfred protested, but Arthur quickly tucked it away into his bag. “Besides, I'm working at the party. I have to make sure the frog doesn't put anything in the punch again.”

 

“That's no fun.”

 

Arthur shrugged. “As if I care. I won't have to deal with Francis preying on the freshmen; that's all that matters.”

 

Alfred slumped back down in his seat and draped himself on the desk before him. He reached across and nudged Arthur's elbow with his index finger. “He likes people older than him. He told me.”

 

Arthur snorted. “You haven't seen how he acts with the rest of the student body.” He looked over his homework, and erased the answers that Alfred had pointed out. He refused to face Alfred, even while the prat pointed out problems and numbers on his paper, and tried to explain the solutions and methods.

 

“You're not helping,” Arthur mumbled, though he hesitated long enough to listen to Alfred's explanations before he jotted down new answers.

 

“Course I'm helping.” Alfred grinned. “It's what heroes do!”

 

Arthur waited for Alfred to continue, but an awkward silence fell over them. Alfred was grinning, unblinking, and after a few minutes Arthur began to feel slightly creeped out by the expression.

 

“Alfred?” Arthur was tempted to poke him, and see if he was somehow broken, but Alfred suddenly moved.

 

“We should hang out more,” Alfred said, and his hand closed around Arthur's wrist. “Y'know, maybe at the party tonight-”

 

“No.”

 

“-or maybe when I have to do homework. Or when _you_ have to do homework. Or something.”

 

“Ha! You need help on homework?” Arthur smirked. “Probably English. You butcher the language everyday, your comprehension is probably atrocious.”

 

“Not like your funny accent!” Alfred retorted, and he slapped his open palm down on the table.

 

Arthur didn't say anything. He stared at Alfred, and squinted at him in disbelief. “What does that have to do with _anything_?”

 

“It does.”

 

Arthur sighed. “If you can't come up with a response, you could always just keep quiet.”

 

“Who said I couldn't come up with something?” Alfred demanded.

 

Arthur decided to take his own advice and kept his mouth shut. He was having a hard time concentrating on his homework with Alfred's constant talking, and he had hoped that he would have _some_ peace before the party. He slipped his homework into his bag (half complete, thanks to Alfred), and then leveled Alfred with a glare.

 

“Don't you have somewhere to be?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Arthur cleared his things off his desk, and Alfred grinned at him. Arthur peeked towards the small couch that rested against the wall farthest from his desk, and then looked back at Alfred.

 

“Will you get out?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Arthur grumbled something under his breath, then he got up. Alfred tensed, as though he expected to be slapped, but Arthur simply walked over to the couch and sat down. He patted the cushions and lay down, then tried to find a comfortable position without making too much noise. He knew that Alfred was probably watching him, and he pulled his cellphone from his pocket to set an alarm.

 

“What're you doing?” Alfred asked, as though it weren't obvious.

 

“I'm tired, and I'm going to sleep,” Arthur growled. He set his phone down on the floor beside the couch once the alarm was set, and then tried to relax into the cushions. “Don't you dare wake me up. Good night.”

 

“Good afternoon!” Alfred corrected cheerfully.

 

“Smartarse.”

 

<hr>

 

Arthur was quite content. Reading Shakespeare in an empty library was heavenly, and the birds outside the large picture windows sang as though taking part in a musical production. Being away from the students and the rest of civilization was such a relief; at least, it _was_ , until the birds started to howl and beep.

 

Arthur jolted awake, and found himself staring at Alfred's face. It was _far_ too close, and Arthur's eyes darted to the green sprig in Alfred's fingers.

 

“Wakey wakey!” Alfred sang, and Arthur reacted in a manner that probably wasn't very wise.

 

Arthur made a fist, and he slammed it into Alfred's nose.

 

“Je- _what the hell?_ ” Alfred cried when he stumbled back. He had a hand over his nose, and pulled it away to check for blood. He covered it up again though there was no blood, and then he stared at Arthur with wide eyes. “What was that for?!”

 

“You have to ask?” Arthur sat up and snatched his phone from where it had fallen on the floor. He hit a few buttons to turn off the alarm, and glared up at Alfred. “What were you doing?”

 

Alfred pointed at the sprig that had fallen on the floor, and Arthur frowned at it.

 

“Mistletoe?” Arthur ran his hand through his hair and tried to pat it down into something somewhat presentable (“tried” being the key word). “Not funny.”

 

Alfred pulled his hand away from his face while Arthur tried not to yawn.

 

“Honestly, you're going to turn out like _Francis_ if you keep that up. What were you thinking?”

 

“It was funny, even if you don't think it was.” Alfred watched as Arthur stood, and then followed around behind him while he gathered things from his backpack. He looked out the window at the darkening sky, then Arthur walked past him. Alfred followed behind him, and the sprig was forgotten on the floor.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Arthur found himself standing by a large punch bowl in a darkened gymnasium, glaring at Francis in between glances at the Christmas lights and the cheerful groups of students. Alfred had disappeared as soon as the first students had arrived, and though Arthur should have felt relieved by that fact, he only found himself worried.

 

Though not as worried as every time Francis neared the punch bowl with a grin, and then Arthur would have to beat him off with a stick he had hidden under the table. Arthur huffed at the thought, and scared a freshman girl that had been carefully pouring some of the punch into a cup with the ladle. It trembled in her hand, and Arthur took it from her so that he could serve it without her dumping it all over herself (or more importantly, the floor).

 

The girl smiled at him and nodded her thanks before running back out to join her group of friends, and it was then that Alfred made his reappearance.

 

“'sup?” Alfred grinned at Arthur, and plopped down on the table. Arthur wasted no time in slapping him away with a curse, and a warning that broken tables would be replaced immediately and out of Alfred's pocket.

 

“Sitting on the table won't break it,” Alfred dismissed Arthur's complaints, but Arthur protested.

 

“You're fat, what with all those _things_ you eat. I'm surprised the floor doesn't crack under your weight.”

 

“Ha ha ha,” Alfred muttered. “Least I'm not bloated.”

 

“What?”

 

“Bloated! Like... Like a whale, or something.”

 

“Whales have fat.”

 

“And you're bloated. It's the tea. Bet your eyes are floating.”

 

“My eyes are... what?”

 

“ _Floating._ Y'know, from all the tea.”

 

“You're pathetic.” Arthur sighed, then shut his mouth and turned to glare at Alfred when he leaned closer.

 

“You look mad.”

 

Arthur wanted to scream. Instead, he leaned back against the table and grasped the edges. He squeezed the wood, and half hoped that he would make indents in the table. He had no interest in being at the party; he had no interest in being the butt of some of the jokes (though the repercussions he threatened ended most of them); and most of all, he had no interest in being seen with Alfred in a situation that could be taken the wrong way.

 

Arthur's main problem was how to explain his feelings to Alfred without being misunderstood. Judging from the way Alfred was sidling closer and grinning, it would be impossible.

 

Arthur considered an exaggerated sigh, then he considered punching Alfred. The sigh was over-rated (and slightly girly), and he had already punched Alfred earlier in the day. Another punch would seem excessive, even if Alfred _did_ deserve it.

 

“Don't you have someone else to harass?” Arthur finally decided, and Alfred shook his head.

 

“Nope. 'sides, I don't harass people. They like me.”

 

“You _think_ they do.”

 

“They do.” Alfred looked pleased with himself, and Arthur removed his hands from the table so that he could cross his arms. “Jealous?”

 

“Nothing to be jealous of.”

 

Alfred wrinkled his nose before leaving the table, and Arthur found himself alone once more. He had nothing to do besides fend off Francis's advances and attempts to sabotage the punch bowl.

 

When the party finally ended, Arthur was the first to express his relief, and then the first to discover that the large group assigned to clean up the gym had disappeared.

 

To say that Arthur was pissed was an understatement. He stood in the middle of the gym, the lights turned on, and the remains and debris of over a hundred partying students spread over the floor. He glared at the streamers and spilled drinks, and the food and crumbs. While he looked over what had been left behind for him to pick up _alone_ , his rage grew, and he kicked the table behind him. The legs on one end folded and the table collapsed; the remaining punch was sent across the floor, the liquid spreading out as though it were mocking him.

 

“Whoa. That sucks.”

 

Arthur turned when Alfred spoke, and he wanted to wring his neck. Alfred had reappeared with a bag of burgers and a smile, and leaned against the wall by the door on the opposite side of the gym. Arthur ground his teeth together, then he straightened his back and marched across the gym. When he reached Alfred, he prodded his chest with his index finger, and narrowed his eyes.

 

“You. Are. Helping.”

 

Alfred cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”

 

“Yes, _really_ ,” Arthur growled. “And you _won't_ be leaving until it's spotless!” Arthur crossed his arms across his chest and glared at Alfred, intent on scaring him, or getting some sort of reaction. He preferred fear, but submission would be good too.

 

Sadly, Alfred was oblivious and unaffected by Arthur's demands. He simply reached into the bag in his hand, and crammed a fistful of french fries into his mouth.

 

“Don't wanna,” Alfred said through the food in his mouth.

 

Arthur flinched away and found himself fearful of spit or crumbs or _something_ that might spray out of his mouth. It was opposite what he had intended on happening, and he hated the fact that Alfred grinned at his display of weakness. Once again, Arthur contemplated hitting him (maybe strangling him), but Alfred shrugged and interrupted his thoughts.

 

“Well, it's what heroes do.” Alfred finished off what was in the bag and crumpled it, then he dropped it on the floor. “Where do we start?”

 

“By picking up what you just dropped on the floor!” Arthur snapped, and Alfred looked down.

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

Alfred bent to pick up the crumpled bag, and Arthur left him to open the doors to a storage room. Arthur searched within for a ladder, feeling only slightly better about the fact that he had been abandoned to pick up the gym. Alfred was annoying, but he was useful when it came to getting physical work done.

 

Alfred took the ladder before Arthur could pull it out, and marched out to set it up against one of the walls where a large wreath hung. Arthur followed him out, and they got to work taking down the decorations and mopping up the floors. Alfred had turned on the stereo from the party and blasted atrocious music, and between the fights for radio channels and arguing about who cleaned up what, they were actually _civil_ to each other. Alfred offered to take Arthur for food, Arthur offered to let Alfred eat all of the food, Alfred accepted with glee (and maybe a little disappointment), and then Arthur discovered that one of the many bottles of maple syrup in the school had exploded and dried in one of the corners.

 

Arthur was sure that his head would be the next to explode. The floor was sticky to walk on, and he knew that the mop he had wouldn't work. At least, it wouldn't work without hours of work and aching limbs.

 

“Why the hell did everyone leave?” Arthur groaned. He didn't even want to look at the mess that covered the floor before him. It was like the last hurdle of a race; they had taken down the lights, filled trash bags with confetti, and cleaned up the tables and chairs. So little left before they could leave, and Arthur was staring at the mother of all messes, unable to leave until the gym was cleaned.

 

Arthur hated hurdles.

 

“You told them you didn't need help and they left.” Alfred appeared behind Arthur, munching on leftover crackers, and Arthur turned on him with a look of horror and disgust.

 

“I did _not_ tell them that!”

 

“I did.”

 

Arthur found himself wondering what he should do, and began to recognize a very dangerous trend. It seemed as though he spent a lot of time trying to figure out what kind of bodily harm he would have Alfred suffer, and he was getting closer and closer to acting on those impulses. He barely restrained himself when he turned to stare at Alfred, and the crackers in his hands and mouth.

 

“You... what?”

 

“I figured we could pick up together. I mean, did you really want them all hanging around?”

 

“ _Yes!_ We've been here for almost two hours, _cleaning!_ I would have _loved_ for them to help clean up this mess!” Arthur wasn't sure what to direct his fists at. He had to admit to himself that he was having a bit of a fit, and would probably suffer a psychotic break and try to kill everyone in the school when classes resumed after the holidays. In the end, he settled for kicking the mop, which in turn knocked over a bucket of dirty water. He could only watch in disbelief while the water splashed across the floor, swirling around his and Alfred's shoes and then settling on top of the floor.

 

Arthur stared at the water and said nothing. It wasn't that he didn't try; he tried to say something, or swear at the unfortunate and terrible events that he found himself in, but all that happened was he choked a little, then shut his mouth and remained silent.

 

Alfred had grabbed Arthur's arm and tugged him out of the room with promises of food and later cleaning (after a nice dinner). Arthur let himself be pulled along, too exhausted to protest. He paid it no mind when they entered the library, and Alfred let him drop down on a couch to collapse in on himself.

 

“Tonight was cool, right?” Alfred asked when he settled in beside Arthur. Arthur was still thinking over the mess that still waited in the gymnasium, with the water, and the syrup, and the large black bags of trash. He groaned at the thought, and Alfred had to shake his head. “Except you stayed in one place all night. Totally boring.”

 

Arthur still didn't bother to answer.

 

“But hey! You're moving around now!” Alfred placed his arm around Arthur's shoulders and yanked him closer.

 

Arthur sighed and shut his eyes, then raised a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. “I hardly think my moving around matters with the mess,” he mumbled. Despite the fact that he both looked and felt miserable, Alfred looked delighted about the fact that he was finally talking.

 

“I'm helping! That's awesome! And we get to hang out and all, so it's even better!” Alfred poked Arthur's hand and received an exhausted expression that was probably meant to be a glare. When Arthur finally looked away, Alfred acted on impulse and pulled him closer, so that they were pressed together side-by-side, and Arthur was pinned between Alfred's arm and chest.

 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked blankly, and Alfred pointed into the air. Arthur followed where he pointed, and stared at the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling above them. “Did you put that there?”

 

“Nope!” Alfred said cheerfully. “Aliens did it!”

 

“I don't think aliens care about the affairs of humans. That includes hanging Christmas decorations.”

 

“Sure they do! And hey, it's a rule! You kiss under the mistletoe!” Alfred shifted to look at Arthur better, and Arthur immediately raised his hand to block Alfred's face.

 

“It's a _game_ , Alfred.”

 

“So?” Alfred puckered his lips and tried to dodge around Arthur's hand, but Arthur simply pressed his hand to Alfred's face.

 

“I don't play games.”

 

Alfred said something, but his words were muffled behind Arthur's hand. After a moment, Arthur yanked his hand back with a sound of disgust and annoyance, and glared at the tongue that Alfred stuck out at him. Before Arthur had a chance to shout at Alfred for licking him, Alfred had moved forward and pressed his lips to Arthur's.

 

Alfred was a terrible kisser. Kissing took more than pressing lips together; it took effort on both sides of the kiss. A peck might be cute, but Arthur was sure it wasn't the kind of kiss Alfred wanted (if this wasn't a game, of course. Which it was.). That was why Arthur was so mystified as to why he pressed his lips back, moving them slightly and inviting Alfred to do something other than hold his head in place. Alfred hesitated, and it took some time to get him to actually do something, but eventually he copied Arthur's motions (though he was terribly clumsy). The kiss only really lasted a moment, and then Alfred slowly backed away to look at Arthur.

 

“I don't play games,” Alfred said bluntly, repeating Arthur's earlier words.

 

“Liar.” Arthur tried to back away, mind running away from the present and demanding that he finish cleaning the mess in the gym. Alfred, however, grabbed his wrist and held him in place.

 

“The mess'll still be there when we're done. Relax or something. Have some fun.”

 

Arthur stopped moving away and glared up at the mistletoe. At least, he tried to glare. He found he really couldn't bring himself to care about it, and sighed before he let himself lean back against Alfred.

 

“I suppose it will,” Arthur mumbled, and Alfred smiled.

 

“Mistletoe's still there,” Alfred said (quite joyfully), and he leaned in once more.

 

Arthur met him halfway (though really, it was maybe a quarter of the way at best. He wasn't easy or anything like that).

 

 


End file.
